Little Saint Bride [Death and the Maiden, #1]

Chapter Two: Deathly Dowry

What can I give you, my groom, except me?

Five silver coins and a ring for thee?

On our wedding day I will stand as your wife

Safe in the knowledge I've paid for my life.

The song is an old poem, popular among the Minoan elders. As the carriage draws up along the sea front, I can hear a group singing it in drab keys, my ears flinching at the dreadful sounds. Thankfully, the gulls overhead take over, screeching in affront at the noise, and diving low to steal any food.

A priestess rushes to my side to help me down the steps. I ignore her attempts to grab my wrist, and instead gather up my skirts and fling them over my elbow. I wobble down the steps in those heels, however, and regret my hasty decision to shun a prop.

As the women break out into another verse, I curse mentally that they haven't at least afforded musical entertainment for my wedding. My last moments will be listening to these screeches.

My last moments.

The thought has finally hit home, and I draw back against the carriage, frightened. Before, I hadn't noticed that it was shiny and black, the same as the carriages that carried the dead to their final resting place.

They brought me here in my own hearse.

Oh God, oh God. This is it.

Ahead, the priestesses are in line to help me to the dais, where the wedding ceremony is set to begin. If I didn't know what was going to happen, I might think that I was a very lucky, rich girl. The wedding is set on the tallest cliffs in the kingdom, overlooking the beautiful sea and the bright red sun slowly dipping beneath the horizon. Flaming torches line the procession up to the altar, where my husband-to-be should be waiting.

If he were human, that is.

My breath catches in my throat, and my mouth opens soundlessly. Expecting this, the priestesses near me grab me by the elbows, drawing me upright so that I don't sag in terror.

A dark figure is pushed before me. The boy is probably a couple of years younger than I am; sixteen or seventeen at the most. His skin is bronze, and his hair a golden wax, sitting in loose curls across his head. I stare up at him, recalling that this man— this boy— has the same fate as I do.

He is here to escort me to my soon-to-be-husband, and to serve me thereafter.

Here I am, jabbering on about my own marriage, when I forgot to mention: the men don't get out of it either. Unmarried men between sixteen and thirty have the responsibility of being sacrificed first— with the purpose of guiding Death's bride through the Underworld, to her husband. In theory.

'What is your name?' is all I ask. My own voice is thankfully steady, but as I look into his brown eyes, I know he's scared. I want to tell him that it's all okay. That regardless of how little evidence I have, this isn't the end.

'Mercer,' he says, and his voice does tremble. It practically breaks, and I hear someone crying in the crowd. From the corner of my eye, a man is breaking down, tearing at his similarly bronze and curling hair.

Fathers, I think. They're very emotional today.

I pray to the heavens that mine isn't watching. I hope he stayed where he was, or better yet, he went back to the casino and the life he knew.

Mercer offers his arm stiffly to me. I don't smile as I take it. Seeing this young boy has made my muscles remember to stand tall. Pushing away the priestesses, I take Mercer's hand and clasp it in mine.